A friend in need
by hobgoblin123
Summary: Strange events take place inside a small church. Set after Tarrant's departure at the end of WTNF. As usual I suck at summaries... Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A friend in need**

Set at the end of WTNF

Chapter One:

For hours Damien Kilcannon Vryce had been sitting in the small chapel close to the harbour, trying to find peace in prayer. As if on their own account his feet had carried him to this modest, ancient building of faith whose incense-soaked walls, blackened by the smoke of innumerable candles, cradled him comfortingly like a mother's womb. And comfort he needed desperately, maybe more than ever before in his life.

Kneeling in the warm twilight Damien had called to God from the depths of his tortured soul, had prayed for forgiveness for his manifold sins, but God hadn't answered his desperate pleads like he had back in the lands of the Undying Prince, defending the warrior knight and poor little Jenseny against His own fallen prophet.

With a sigh Damien bowed his head onto his folded hands and tried anew to submit himself into prayer, to offer God his faith and his love for the Church, but his thoughts stubbornly kept returning to the pained face of the Hunter, and he caught himself muttering intercessions for his condemned companion in an endless loop.

‚You brought me to this. You and your philosophy. You and your human influence!'(WTNF, page 611). Tarrant's horrified accusation still ringing in ears Damien realized with a shudder that while he was safely praying in the House of God the Hunter very possibly tried to purge his corrupted soul from the 'taint' of Damien's humanity by the ruthless murdering of innocent women.

The priest shivered with dread. If the Hunter had been right he was burdened with more guilt than he had been able to imagine in his worst nightmares. Allying with evil incarnate he not only had to take responsibility for Tarrant's victims of tonight and so many other nights, but for the looming demise of his companion and for the unending torture the adept would doubtlessly have to endure in hell for his betrayal.

Dear God , how far down on the road to hell had Gerald already dragged him that the mere thought of the Hunter's impending suffering made him sick with terror? Instead of praying for the helpless, young women who might very well beg for their lives at the very moment he pleaded for the continuing existence of a hellish abomination so evil that it defied description. And Gerald's words had left no room for interpretation. On this occasion he wouldn't settle for a quick kill or a single hunt, but cleanse himself with blood and human fear in quantities.

Tarrant had made his choice. He would be what he was meant to be, while Damien' soul had been warped and twisted by the Hunter's mere presence until he wasn't able to tell right from wrong anymore, exactly as his undead companion had foretold so many months ago.

Sighing Damien finished his prayer and rose with a groan, rubbing his sore knees. As much as he wished it helping either Tarrant or his victims was out of the question. Gerald had made himself abundantly clear that he wasn't keen on Damien's presence, and if the Hunter didn't want to be found the priest had no chance in hell to track him down, not to mention covering the vast distances Tarrant easily conquered on his leathery wings.

Vryce was just about leaving for his hotel room and maybe a very late dinner, or very early breakfast, when the door flew open and a young woman, not more than eighteen at most, stumbled into the church and collapsed on the floor. With regard to her slightly provoking attire Damien assessed her as a barmaid, and comely as she was with her long dark braids and blue eyes she had probably been pretty busy warding off unwanted attention by drunken customers a few hours ago. But right now her delicate, pale features were so distorted by utter exhaustion and terror that even her own mother would have had difficulties recognizing her.

Damien stared, for a moment not able to process what was happening. When he was able to move again he approached the whimpering girl warily. Maybe some drunks had stalked her on her way home, hungry for some female company, willing or not, or she'd been quarrelling with her lover, but for Damien's taste the strange situation felt a bit too much like a hideous nightmare coming true, and his eyes never left the church entrance.

"What's happened to you, Mes? Can I help you?" Damien enquired compassionately. He tried to keep his voice low, soothing, but the girl's eyes were still glazed over with fear, and her teeth were clattering too much for a coherent answer. Sighing inwardly Damien put a comforting hand on her slender shoulder and shook her gently to get her attention.

Her eyes still out of focus the girl started muttering something in between the choking sobs that forced themselves out of her chest, but the only word the priest could make out was something that sounded suspiciously like "demon".

Damien straightened and drew his sword. It was still possible that the girl was hallucinating, had taken some drugs from the black market maybe, but he wanted to be prepared, just in case. His eyes locked on the door Damien waited, but except the cool night air nothing entered the little chapel.

Vryce stood still like a stone, wishing the young girl would stop whimpering and shaking while he pricked up his ears, all senses alert. To his amazement he realized that he had started shivering as well, the night air that had been so balmy a few hours ago, inviting for an idle stroll and some drinks in a dae, suddenly frigid. He could see his breath in the frosty air, an impossible and very uncanny drop in temperature, and the warrior knight tensed with apprehension.

Damien's hairs stood on end when the black-haired beauty dragged herself to her knees and clung to him while her shaky voice rose in a despairing scream. "He's devouring me! Oh, God, help me; it hurts so much, please!"

An icy gust of wind out of nowhere toppled the candles until only the moonlight illuminated the church with its ghostly light, and the massive alter oak door closed on its own account with horrifying finality.

Damien slowly turned around on the spot, eying the dark corners warily, but no faeborn demon with fangs and claws jumped at them from the shadows. The unknown girl had let go of Damien's pants and had dropped back on the hard stone floor, gasping for air as if every breath would be her last. Damien had no doubts that her life force was dwindling fast, and that some demonic entity was feeding on her right there in the house of God. With sinking spirits he realized that deep down in his heart he knew what was happening, and that not only the Hunter had to make his choices that night.

"Gerald?" His strained voice eerily resonated in the small chapel that had felt like a secure haven minutes ago but resembled a death trap now.

There was no answer, just a threatening, brooding silence, but the shadows seemed to gather in the chapel's corners until Damien's sight was limited to a few feet, and by now the air had turned brittle with an unearthly chill that burned his lungs and seared his throat.

Shivering with cold and a dreadful foreboding Damien bent down to wrap the poor girl in his cloak, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a malicious chuckle he knew only too well.

"Do you like my present, priest?"

The deep shadows behind the altar with the golden, interlinking circles parted, and the Neocount of Merentha stepped forwards in a soft rustle of silk.

His heart suddenly in his mouth Damien stiffened. So his ominous gut feeling hadn't betrayed him. Never before Gerald had hunted in his presence, but tonight the Hunter's determination to suffocate the remaining faint remnants of his humanity seemingly overcame the last barricades.

Damien felt sick to his very bones, but to his own amazement the accustomed fierce disgust and moral revulsion mingled with overwhelming pity not only for the Hunter's prey but for the undead adept as well, that lost soul that had been wandering in the darkness for centuries now, powerful beyond human imagination, but enslaved nonetheless, bound for eternity by a compact with the forces of evil that cut him off from repentance and salvation from the clutches of evil by God's grace.

"Don't harm her, Gerald", he pleaded gently, on the verge of tears. "She's so young. Let her go home to her family."

Tarrant snorted disdainfully. "Set her free graciously and commit another crime in the eyes of the Unnamed, forfeiting my last credit with my creators? I don't think so, priest. I've told you once before that courting death at my age is not on my agenda."

Looking at the whimpering girl Damien shivered. "Gerald, please", he tried again, "don't do this to yourself. If you need food, well, I've offered before. Take from me and let her go in peace, not for her sake, but for yours."

"How thoughtful to care for my well-being, Vryce, if a bit belated, unfortunately. Will you pray for my evil soul while I roast in hell, I wonder? But certainly a busy man like you, accepted back in good graces by your precious patriarch as a reward for my downfall, won't have much time to spare for a broken tool."

Although the smooth voice was oozing with sarcasm Damien felt the underlining tension and despair on a visceral level. Daring a direct look at the adept he trembled and quickly gazed away again. Vryce had seen the Hunter interacting with unsuspecting humans without drawing any unwanted attention, and he'd been assuming for a long time now that Tarrant adapted his looks to his intentions and moods just the way he adapted to the worst fears of his victims, bringing them to life for his pleasure.

If this supposition was true Gerald's face didn't bode well. The ivory visage resembled a stone mask, devoid of any human feelings, and the black eyes were fearsome pools of darkness, eternally hungering for living warmth and human suffering. It might have been a strange illusion wrought by the eerie moonlight or Damien's own feverish imagination, but behind Tarrant's back, deep in the shadows, huge leathery wings seemed to span the whole breadth of the chapel. Nobody sane could have considered the adept a human being that night, and Damien swallowed convulsively, pushing down the acid bile rising in his throat.

Tarrant stepped closer, too close for Damien's peace of mind, and leaned over the young lady who was staring up at him in wide eyed incomprehension like a deadly bird of prey. When he brushed a strand of hair from her face, almost tenderly, the girl recoiled from his touch and tried to crawl away from him, but in vain. The black gaze banned her as surely on the spot as iron manacles around her slender wrists.

"Isn't she beautiful, priest?" the Hunter murmured, his eyes half closed. "So pliable and delicate. So responsive to my manipulations. If you forget about your foolish notion of saving her I might forgive you and share the fun with you."

Tarrant straightened and faced his companion, his eyes brimming with malevolence. "Poor priest! When did you last – how shall I put it politely? – enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh? With your unfortunate pilot, I suppose? No wonder you're such a dour sourpuss. Tonight I feel benevolent enough to reward you with a gift: her body for you, her soul for me. Sounds a fair deal to me."

With a sneer the adept pulled the girl up by one of her thick braids in an appalling mock offering, and his face frozen with shock Damien's hand closed around the hilt of his sword. This had gone far enough.

The barmaid's eyes had gone completely blank, and Vryce seriously doubted that the girl would ever be her old self again, even if she survived the night. He vividly remembered the horrifying stories about the few of the Hunter's victims that had 'escaped' his clutches just to end their lives with their own hands, unable to bear their memories.

Deliberately Damien relaxed his death grip on his sword, his mind racing. Certainly Gerald wouldn't stoop low enough to expect him to rape that innocent child, would he? That was not his usual style, and at any case the adept knew perfectly well that Damien would never harm the young woman. The Hunter might be a sadistic, ruthless killer and an abomination, but he was no fool, and he did nothing without a reason.

Something was very strange about the situation and reminded Damien of a play, staged deliberately for his benefit by a true master of psychological manipulation. It was a pity, though, that nobody had yet bothered to brief him on his part, especially because in Tarrant's current mood each mistake could easily be his last one.

"NO! Don't hurt me anymore, please!" The girl's shrill scream of pain cut through Vryce's reverie like a sword.

"I'm running out of patience, Vryce! But if you don't want your share of the prey, bad luck for you…"

_He tries to provoke me!_ Damien realized with a start. _Whatever __his __reasons __he__'__s __manipulating __me. __Again. __But __not __this __time, __my __friend. __Not __now. __I __won__' __t __let __this __happen!_

"Gerald", please, you don't have to do this. You'll find a way, I'm sure of that. We'll find…"

"We?" Tarrant snapped at him and for the first time since Damien had made his acquaintance there was a faintly hysterical note in his voice. "There is no 'we', priest. You wanted me dead right from the beginning, remember? Do you dare to deny that my final death along with a nice eternal trip to hell was included in your pretty little bargain? Don't be a hypocrite, Vryce! It doesn't suit you.

Damien flinched, taken aback by the truth ringing in Tarrant's voice. Yes, he had wanted the Hunter's demise with all his heart, had regarded ridding the world of Tarrant's taint forever as his holy mission, but his feelings had changed over time to caring, camaraderie and maybe to something deeper he couldn't admit yet, not even to himself.

_He __doesn__'__t __know_, Damien marvelled, completely puzzled. _He __prowls __through __my __soul, __greedily __devouring __my __fear __along __with __my __blood __as __befits __a __true __predator __of __the __night, __but __he __cannot __read __my __true __feelings __for __him. __Dear __God, __have __mercy __on __this __blackest __of __souls_.

Without thinking about the consequences of his actions Damien stepped closer and put a comforting hand on Tarrant's icy shoulder.

Gerald's eyes widened with shock, and he blinked, just this once, his gaze passing between Vryce's face and the human hand on his shoulder with stunned disbelief. For a short moment the marble mask softened visibly, and a pitiful look passed over his delicate features, so forlorn and human that Damien's heart wept for him.

The priest held his breath, hoping against hope, but much too soon the white face hardened again, and looking into the empty eyes, windows to a lightless world of terror far beyond human imagination, Damien had to grit his teeth to prevent them from clattering.

The fierce attack came without so much as a warning, and the breath was knocked out of Vryce when he hit the hard stone floor with Gerald hovering over him like the angel of death.

White teeth glittered in the moonlight, and when Tarrant bent down for the kill Damien murmured a short prayer, putting his soul into God's hands.

"That's not _quite_ what I had in mind", the Hunter whispered, his voice low with twisted delight. "You concealed it well, priest, but when you touched me your emotions were too strong to stay hidden. Now I know your heart, and what you can sacrifice for the young lady's sake."

Gerald's cruel smile made Damien's skin crawl. Whatever 'sacrifice' the Hunter had in mind he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it, not one bit, but when the adept continued his worst expectations were exceeded by far.

"Just imagine tempting one of God's faithful servants to embrace a demon in the house of God, Vryce, an act so vile it defies description and worthy of a creature they call the 'darkest prince of hell'. Don't you think that's a fitting deed to redeem me in the eyes of the Unnamed, priest? Enough to earn me a reprieve, at the very least?"

Damien was struck speechless. 'Embrace a demon?' When the terrible truth dawned on him Vryce almost choked on his own breath. He'd been foolish to delude himself into believing that he might be able to show his companion a way back into the light. The darkness inside Tarrant was too deeply rooted, his soul warped by the forces of evil for nearly a millennium to suit their sinister purposes. It was too late for him, maybe had been too late since the true night he slaughtered his innocent family.

Black despair welled up inside him and bitterness, finding an outlet in a helpless outburst of impotent wrath. "You sick bastard! No way that you use my accursed feelings for you for committing a sacrilege! Get it over with and kill me, if that makes you feel better, but keep your blasphemous fantasies to yourself, Hunter."

Tarrant didn't even bother to answer, but the girl that had been lying apathetically on the floor, her breath barely discernible, suddenly started writhing and screaming again in agony. Horrified Damien squeezed his eyes shut, revolted beyond words.

'To protect the innocent in peace and in war, with my own life, with need be…' Those had been the words he had sworn once, when he'd been accepted into the Order of the Golden Flame, words of faith and honour that had been written down by the Prophet nearly a millennium ago. By the very man who'd wholeheartedly succumbed to the seductive whispers of evil, leaving his tainted mark on everybody he associated with, including himself. With all his resolve Damien suppressed a sob. This wasn't the time for crying; duty came first, as befitted a knight.

"It's all right, Gerald. But let the poor child go first? I don't want her to witness it. You know I will keep my word.

For a moment Tarrant just stared at him as if weighing his soul, a slight frown on his face. "You really never fail to surprise me, priest. Have it your way, then."

The Hunter straightened and faced the girl, his grey eyes taking on an uncanny light of their own. To Damien's heartfelt relief the barmaid instantly calmed down and opened her eyes slowly, as if waking up from a trance.

"What am I doing here, Mers? What happened to me?" The young voice was still a bit shaky, and the girl's eyes passed apprehensively between the two men, but otherwise no lasting harm seemed to have been done to her, and for that only Damien was grateful. Hopefully she would never know either what price he'd have to pay for her safety or how close her encounter with death had been that night.

"You came here to pray, child, and fainted", Vryce replied, sounding much more priestly than he actually felt. Pulling himself together he offered the young beauty his arm to help her up. "I think you should go home and have some rest."

"Thank you, father. Maybe you are right." The pretty girl managed a small smile, but shot a wary glance towards Tarrant who had retreated partway into the shadows again. When the door closed behind her Damien took a deep breath and turned round to face the Hunter.

"Now it's just the two of us, Vryce."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, written by the marvellous  
>Ms Friedman, and no profit is intended.<p>

"Then let's get it over with, Gerald."

With shaking hands Damien started to unlace his pants, shivering from the cold. Or from apprehension, he wasn't sure. Using his cloak for padding he lay down and closed his eyes, shutting out the horrendous reality. He'd stick to his promise and let the Hunter do with his body whatever atrocity the adept had in mind, but the warrior knight prayed to God that somehow he'd find a hidden sanctuary deep inside him, a safe place shielding his soul from what was going to happen.

Boots were clicking softly on the stone, accompanied by the barely perceptible hiss of silken robes, a sound so deeply connected to the Hunter that it haunted Damien even in his dreams.

"Damien Kilcannon Vryce, ever the martyr for a just cause", Tarrant whispered, the smooth voice dripping with sarcasm, his chill breath an icy caress on Damien's cheek. "But it doesn't work like this, you know, pretending you just endure the violation while evil incarnate has its wicked way with you."

Even with his eyes closed Damien felt the Hunter's presence in his bones, saw Gerald towering over him, his head tilted side wards, watching him intently like a hungry bird of prey.

I've seen into your soul, Vryce; I know that deep down in your heart you want me, although you can't admit it because of your silly human morals. I know that sometimes you wake up from your wet dreams, your frail mortal flesh stiff with need. Tell me, do you repent on your knees then, humbly beseeching God to forgive you the damnable sin of yearning for an accursed, filthy demon?"

Completely aghast Damien's eyes flew open when Tarrant stopped abruptly with a strangled sound that sounded suspiciously like a choked off sob and staggered backwards, his halting steps worlds apart from his accustomed catlike grace. Leaning for support against the altar with its golden, interlinking circles, his hands twisted into the white cloth and his head hanging low Gerald looked disconcertingly human, miserable and defeated, and fraught with worry Damien was on his feet in a blink and rushed to his companion's side, all anger and dread drowned in a surge of compassion.

This wasn't about the Hunter now, not even about the proverbial lost sheep that had to be guided back to God, but about Gerald Tarrant, a friend in need. With surprising gentleness the warrior knight placed his calloused, right hand on the adept's shoulder again, an ancient gesture of consolation that went far back to the days of humanity's dawning on their distant mother planet, and kneaded the rigid muscles hidden under layers of cool, soft silk ever so carefully.

His inner turmoil masked by the eternal patience of the dead the Hunter stood still like a statue, his lean body unmoved by breath or any other visible sign of life. The cold, undead flesh under Damien's hand felt as unyielding as numarble, but although his fingers were already numb the priest didn't recoil from the chill, inhuman feel of the touch.

"Cut the crap, Gerald. You are no 'filthy demon'. Not for me. Not anymore."

Staring into the shadows the adept just shook his head, evidently still trying to master his feelings. With a small sigh Damien tightened his grip slightly and tried to turn Tarrant around, but despite his bulk and strength he could as well have tried to move a mountain.

"Not for me, Gerald", Damien repeated, not caring a damn that his own voice threatened to crack with emotion now, "and whoever insults you by calling you that will answer to me, and he won't like that."

Still vividly remembering his own abhorrence at the Hunter's vile, corrupted presence slithering through his soul like a poisonous snake Vryce was perfectly aware that the adept in his impeccable, spotless robes wasn't referring to an imaginary defilement of his body, but to the lamentable state of his human soul after nearly a thousand years of serving the Forces of the Dark. The Darkest Prince of Hell, indeed.

Despite those unpleasant memories Damien barely managed to suppress a grin when all at once a fleeting image crossed his mind, showing him a picture of his own sweaty, dirty and ragged self trudging grudgingly in the Hunter's wake on several occasions, as usual fuming at Tarrant's vulking vainness. An incandescent wave of affection washed over Damien, and throwing all caution to the wind he buried his nose at the back of Gerald's neck and breathed in deeply.

"Your damned vanity and fastidiousness irks me, you know", Damien murmured fondly into the Hunter's soft hair, nuzzling closer and inhaling his companion's scent, "and sometimes I presume you do it on purpose, just to grate on my nerves. But you smell so good, cold and clear, like moonlight reflected on snow so pure you think you somehow entered the realm of the fair folk. Do you remember those ancient stories about fairy kings and angels, Gerald? They all pale compared to you."

Tarrant snorted disparagingly, but his haughty huff lacked its accustomed venom, and for once Damien could have sworn that just below the familiar veneer of arrogant condescension boiled a veritable cauldron of warring emotions.

"I never knew that you've got a penchant for poetry, Vryce."

Inwardly Damien cringed with embarrassment, verily tempted to kick his own butt for trying out his limited capacities for sweet talk on the Hunter. Damn Tarrant and his acerbic tongue! But he really should have known that in times of trouble the adept would fall back on sarcasm as the favourite tool of his very private survival kit. Nevertheless the telltale words had simply popped out of Vryce's mouth on their own account, and having spilled the beans anyway he obstinately refused to go back on them.

"That makes two of us, Gerald. There are a lot of things I never knew before I met you. Can't say all of them are pleasant, but I won't complain. Although", Damien added pointedly, "I could do with a bit of fine tuning, now and then. God is my witness that you damned well know how to raise my hackles."

"You're incorrigible, Vryce", the Hunter whispered slowly, as if his words failed him. "When God dished out subtlety you doubtlessly failed to attend. You're stubborn like a mule, recalcitrant, blunt and utterly honourable. If I were still human and were we not warriors fighting on opposite sides I'd be proud to call you a brother in arms. And a friend."

"Yeah, and your friend is getting rather tired of talking to your stiff back. Please look at me, Gerald. Gracing my humble presence with the pretty face you're so proud of won't hurt, you know."

For a long time that request was met with silence, and Vryce grit his teeth, wondering if he'd pushed too far, spoiling what could very well have been his last perfunctory chance to reach the vulnerable human soul hidden behind the monstrous mask.

_Please, Lord,_ Damien prayed silently, _please let me be your tool for the Prophet's redemption, at whatever cost to myself. I know his crimes committed against those innumerable innocents cry to heaven, but he's not beyond hope. Don't let me muck this up, Lord, I beg you. Show me a way to get through to this lost soul wandering in the darkness."_

Possibly the One God had indeed listened to that heartfelt entreaty by one of his devout priests, because drawing a deep, shaking breath Gerald at long last straightened and turned to face his companion. The familiar emotionless façade and stringent self control hadn't snapped properly back into place yet, and Damien was shocked to his core by the dejected, stricken expression on Tarrant's face and the single ruby drop running down one of the pale cheeks, a small reminder of their vast differences.

"Look at me, Vryce", the Hunter whispered hoarsely, "the angel of death, that's what I am. Don't deny my true nature. Which sane human being would enjoy that kind of fairy tale?"

Spontaneously Damien reached for the adept's face and wiped the blood away, a tender gesture so unexpected and intimate that Tarrant blinked and flinched, looking slightly dazed, but to the warrior knight's astonishment he didn't draw back.

By now Damien was feeling a bit disconcerted as well. Sacrificing the integrity of his body for a worthy cause, be it the survival of the young maiden or Gerald Tarrant's redemption, was one thing, but touching Gerald and inhaling his unique scent while burying his face in his hair had elicited a fair amount of those queer, suppressed longings that his conscious mind kept strictly caged, except for the helpless hours of sleep when they shattered their confinement with a vengeance to haunt him with those grating, salacious dreams Gerald had been referring to. The bastard most certainly wouldn't miss an opportunity to rub it in until judgement day, which might not be that far off, all things considered.

Vryce wavered for a moment, utterly at loss how to proceed, but with a mental sigh he decided that beating around the bush wouldn't get them anywhere.

"I would, Gerald, and as I recall we were contemplating to open some of the more adventurous pages inside your book, weren't we?"

Tarrant stared at him for a while, nonplussed. "You are…" Than he cut himself off, shaking his head full of exasperation.

"I am what, exactly?" Damien replied with feigned innocence. A speechless Gerald was a rare treat, and he wanted to savour every moment of this unexpected, but very welcome gift. "Sagacious? Handsome? Dashing?"

"When we first met I would have chosen the terms 'presumptuous', 'jarring' and 'impertinent', Vryce", the Hunter retorted acidly, but the slight curve of his mouth and the hint of amusement in his voice belied the stinging rebuke, and Damien's boorish grin widened. A generous pinch of good, old-fashioned bickering had never failed to improve the adept's mood yet...

"And what's your answer to my question now, Your Excellency?"

The corners of Gerald's mouth moved a tad further upwards, and Damien would have wagered the patriarch's reliquary that it wasn't just the moonlight that made the silver eyes sparkle.

"Well, Vryce, let's put it like that: I'd rather not bet any money on your sagacity, but as for the reminder of your pompous little list my answer is 'just so!'"

Author's note:

Just in case that I'm going to be told off for letting Damien and Gerald act out of character I'd like to write some short remarks concerning the protagonist's motivations. ;-)

Well, at the end of WTNF having broken his compact evidently scares the living daylights out of Tarrant, and close to panicking he seems to be willing to commit any imaginable atrocity to redeem himself in the eyes of his 'benefactors'. Seducing a _priest _to consort with him, not to mention getting said priest to engage into sexual activities in the House of God, might count more on the Nameless Ones' tally than killing some faceless human females. Moreover it might provide Gerald with a very welcome justification for relenting to some of his own suppressed longings, lol.

As for the bloody tear I think we all agree that Tarrant still harbours some human feelings, however deeply buried under his hellish trappings. He'd come close to despair once already, when he was unable to face his God. Now he's torn between stark dread (he might be damned to eternal suffering in hell at any given moment), his determination to survive at whatever cost, his malevolent, twisted personality (wouldn't it be the ultimate evil to drag the priest a little bit further down the road to hell?) and his undeniable attraction to Damien, a very unsettling mixture. Add a grain of self-contempt to this maelstrom of emotions ('a filthy demon'), and even a toughie like the Hunter might be entitled to a weak moment…

Damien with his helper syndrome, on the other hand, is intrigued by Tarrant's sudden vulnerability. A desperate, pained Gerald is a Gerald he can relate to, a fact Vryce amply proved when he tried to console the adept on their journey to the lands of the Undying Prince. I've always found it quite telling that he dropped poor, tortured Jenseny into Hesseth's arms without further ado, just to be able to chase after the Hunter. But of course he acted the way he did just because he needed Tarrant's power. Yeah, if you say so, Damien ;-).

Well, confronted with the Hunter's insight into his mind (and with feelings he'd never dared to acknowledge before) Damien's mouth gets the better of him (as usual), and in his own confusion, his heart heavy with helpless pity and dreading Gerald's looming demise, he bares his soul, purring some sweet nonsense into Tarrant's flattered ears. And why not? Damien's never been afraid to voice his feelings, and the adept has read him like an open book, anyway. So fuck it!

Well, and now I need your help, folks. I'm stuck! I've been pondering my options for weeks now, and I still can't make up my mind how I want the story to end. Shall our heroes get down to business in the chapel (have to admit that the image makes me feel a bit uneasy, although I'm a retired Christian turned pagan), or will they agree on forgetting about the mating game? And why? If they stick to their deal, how can Tarrant bypass the prohibition of engaging in acts of procreation? _Is_ sex between two men an act of procreation at all? As far as I know creating new life is a bit difficult if both partners are men. Except in fanfics, lol. Maybe acting the passive part, without getting aroused, would do the trick? And if so, can the Hunter resist to having fun? I really don't know. So please, please provide me with some input. Write a review, or send a p.m., but don't let me hanging, I beg you…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

Warnings: As fellow writer Black Dragon's Ghost so endearingly put it the chapter 'contains Gerald' and his gruesome recollections how he discovered that sex was a 'no go' for him; mentioning of violence and rape

Author's note: My muse kicked my butt to continue with the story, and I finally made up my mind to avoid a sex scene taking place in a church; nonetheless I promise a final chapter including a 'romantic' encounter, so please have patience with me. It might take a while, because somehow all hell has broken loose in my life, and possibly I won't be able to update my stories for a few weeks. Sorry for the delay!

I'd also like to point out that I am very well aware that somebody else has already used the plot of Tarrant succumbing to his baser nature in the wake of his transformation before he at last managed to get a grip on himself, but in my opinion that idea has been employed countless times in literature anyway (see 'Twilight', for example), so please don't jump at me. The same (more or less) evidently goes for Gerald's supposed affair with King Gannon. And the mind-link and its peculiar side-effects, of course. Somehow we just have to deal with our cases of convergent evolution, I suppose. And _I _have to deal with my acute paranoia concerning story lines and phrases which have been used before… ;-)

ooooooooooooooooo

It took Damien a while to process what he'd just heard, and when he was absolutely sure he'd understood the adept correctly it was his turn to blink, completely taken aback by the unexpected revelation. Had the well-groomed, picky Gerald Tarrant just impassively admitted that he found him attractive? Even handsome? This was truly a night to remember… Damien's mind buzzed and he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

"But you were married, Gerald, you sired three children, not to mention your preference of young, beautiful women for, well…" Damien trailed off, fighting down the overpowering temptation to bang his thick head against the chapel wall. Tarrant was right, as usual: subtlety most certainly wasn't his domain. Why on Earth and Erna did he have to bring _that_ grisly topic up, ruining the first truly private moment since the beginning of their insane quest?

Daring a look at his undead companion Vryce was surprised that the pale features showed no traces of resentment but a kind of distanced curiosity instead.

"After all those years I can still recall that I loved my wife and my children", Gerald replied slowly, "but just the fact, not the feeling itself. The better part of my human emotions died along with my mortal body the night I bartered my humanity to the Nameless One, and I very much doubt they can ever be restored to life. As for those pretty, vulnerable little lambs running for their insignificant lives in my domain they just exist to feed my appetite."

A cruel, hungry spark had been kindled in Tarrant's cold silver eyes, and Damien shivered under the hypnotic gaze. "But that doesn't quite answer my question, does it? As far as I know my gender doesn't meet your usual predilections. So how come I into play, I wonder?"

It seemed to Damien that the Hunter smiled faintly. "As usual you fall into the trap of jumping to unverified conclusions. Let's just say that in my early mortal days, prior to my engagement to Almea, I preferred keeping my options open. So don't worry about my virginity, priest. It's not a first, not by a long shot."

The warrior knight goggled, trying to digest the most recent jaw-dropper of the night, but his utter disbelief quickly drowned in a wave of crushing jealousy, a very unpleasant experience not improved at all by the smug expression on his companion's face. "That's really exhilarating to know, Gerald", Damien fumed. "Do you mind informing me of how many happy predecessors I actually have?"

Vryce could have sworn that if the Hunter were a mortal man with less control over his emotions he would have felt very much tempted to burst into a fit of laughter at Damien's helpless ire, but being Gerald the adept just raised an elegant eyebrow and traced his companion's collarbone with an icy index finger.

"If you wait for an impressive tally now", the Hunter murmured softly, "I might have to disappoint you. You had one _predecessor_, priest, just one. I owed him my sanity and presumably my life, I cherished him and when the situation required it I forced him to give my '_flesh to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field'_. We had worked for years to bring a semblance of law and order to lands previously torn apart by civil wars and to strengthen the precarious position of an ancient faith smothered by more promising pagan cults. He vowed to stand by me and defend me against the pompous, deluded fools in charge of my own creation, but everything we had strived for would have gone to the dogs, and I couldn't let that happen."

Rapidly loosing count on the eye openers fate had already had in store for him during that weird night Vryce somehow resisted the temptation to pinch himself, but just by a small margin. Either he had gone insane, not a far fetched thesis all things considered, or damned Gerald Tarrant had had a fling with his king in his youth.

No, not just a vulking fling, Damien corrected his first assumption. '_I cherished him'_ Gerald had said, and a certain undertone in the adept's calm voice, a barely discernible trace of sadness had belied the serene, composed façade. Briefly the warrior knight wondered from which kind of mortal peril Gannon had rescued Tarrant, but decided to file away that question for later inquiries. They had enough problems on their own already, life threatening situations galore and mortal enemies running rampart included, to waste valuable resources with fretting over long deceased rivals.

Gerald hadn't drawn back, but was still standing very, very close to Damien, each of his calm breaths a chilly breeze on his companion's face, and the warrior knight shuddered involuntarily.

"What about me, Gerald?" Damien muttered hoarsely, when it became clear that Tarrant had no intentions of adding some valuable information. "Do you feel the same for me? Do you feel _anything_ for me at all?"

The frigid fingers stopped their idle caress and moved upwards, tangled themselves in Damien's hair and pulled back his head until their eyes met. Dumbfounded the warrior knight registered the turmoil lurking just below the glacial surface of those glittering silvery depths, and he held his breath, waiting for the delivery of the judgement.

"Don't overestimate yourself, Vryce", the Hunter sneered. "There isn't much left of the man I once was, and although the last remnants of my humanity might have developed a certain absurd fondness for you I will still kill you in a heartbeat if you stand in my way or try to make an end of me."

"I know, Gerald, I know. We've already discussed this issue once before", Damien replied with a relieved grin. Combining his grudging confession with a death threat was so typically Tarrant that he decided to rejoice at the adept conceding to harbouring however twisted affectionate feelings for him instead of worrying about his more lethal intentions. "But could you please stop doing away with me one hair at a time? It hurts, and I'd rather keep the honours of my head for a while."

Tarrant frowned contemptuously, but unclenched his fingers and settled for cradling the back of Damien's head. "Well, if you behave I might decide to keep you around for the time being. I've never found bald men especially appealing, and under the condition that you use a comb now and then you are allowed to keep that greying mess of yours."

"'_That greying mess of mine'_?' You vulking bastard, who do you think…?" Damien's incensed ramblings were choked off by a cold finger on his lips and a no less chilly mouth purring "didn't I just tell you to behave?" disquietingly close to his exposed throat, and the more rational part of his brain waving the white flag of surrender he succumbed to Gerald's lure and wrapped his arms around his companion's waist, throwing all caution to the wind.

Though Tarrant was still fully dressed in his accustomed layers of silk and wool embracing a numarble statue which had been buried under ice and snow for centuries couldn't have been more marrow-chilling, and Damien wasn't able to suppress a violent shiver. The adept tensed slightly in his arms, obviously registering his discomfort, but against his better judgement Damien pressed even closer, clinging to his companion as tightly as he could and nuzzling into the crook of Tarrant's throat. God, Gerald indeed smelled divinely, of cold winter nights and starlight on frozen lakes, and Damien inhaled his fill until he felt more than slightly dizzy and a bit too aroused for his own peace of mind.

"But you smell deliciously as well, Vryce", a low whisper interrupted his reverie, "so warm and human, so mouth-watering appetizing that I can barely refrain from biting into the forbidden fruit."

That rather disturbing statement brought Damien's head up with a start, but when he met the adept's gaze to his relief the mesmerizing grey eyes sparkled with genuine human humour instead of the feral cravings of a nocturnal predator.

_He might be a touch out of practice, but I'd be damned if the vulking bastard isn't trying to flirt with me_ Damien realized, his heart speeding up with a weird mixture of nervousness and sheer elation, and he caught himself smiling back. "When I'm the seductive apple who is the bloody snake in Garden Eden, Gerald?

The silly question was meant to be a joke, but the dry humour in Tarrant's eyes died a sudden death, and his features hardened. "The snake in Garden Eden", the Hunter replied with an almost imperceptible shiver, "might kill me with her poisonous bite. Literally, Vryce. All acts of procreation are connected to life and as deadly to me as the sunlight. I told you once that I didn't have a guide for my new existence, and I learned that fact the hard way."

For a fleeting instance Damien couldn't help but imagining a small handbook manifesting itself at Gerald's side, retching of sulphur and the title 'Guide for the Undead' written in burning letters on its jet-black cover, but looking at his companion's pensive face his inappropriate bout of mirth deserted him at once. "You learned that the hard way? How? I don't suppose you somehow established a loving relationship in your current state?"

The adept's withering glare could have frozen a hot spring in midsummer, and Damien cringed with embarrassment. Merciful God, would he never learn to keep his brash tongue in check? So many years as a church representative should really have taught him better.

"I don't remember much of the first years after my transformation", Tarrant calmly replied at long last. My brain was drowning in a mist of blood-thirst so intense that sometimes I barely remembered my name. I was running purely on instinct, feeding on every living soul who crossed my path and hiding from the deadly sunlight in whatever lightless place available. Caverns, empty vaults, graves, I didn't mind. If you could see that pitiful creature almost unrecognizable under those repulsive layers of caked blood and filth you might not believe your eyes."

A forlorn expression passed over Tarrant's features, and the warrior knight winced in sympathy. "I understand, Gerald. I understand. You don't have to go on if it hurts you."

"I don't think you understand, Vryce. That thirst was beyond human comprehension. Imagine not days but weeks in the desert without a single sip of water, and that wouldn't even remotely touch it. It took me a few decades to regain sufficient control for abstaining from ripping the throat out of my prey as soon as I had taken them down, but I managed, and one night I came across the perfect victim for a little experiment of mine."

The fleeting human emotions on the adept's face had dissolved into nothingness, and his smirk was brimming with such malevolence that Damien gritted his teeth, dreading the continuation of his companion's morbid tale.

"The young lady I chose was breathtakingly beautiful", the Hunter went on, much to Damien's dismay, "delicate and vulnerable and so afraid for her life. She was going to get married the following week, to an illiterate, pimpled imbecile whom she perceived as the love of her life. Ten years later she would have become a disillusioned, overweight matron with a flock of half-wit children in tow. Believe me, priest: in the end I did her a favour."

Damien stood rooted to the spot, frozen with horror as the full impact of Tarrant's words hit him with the force of a brick. His arms which had still been wrapped around his companion's waist lost their grip and dangled at his sides like two roughly hewn blocks of wood, and in appalled horror the warrior knight retreated a few steps without ever realizing that he was moving.

"Your victims?" Damien spluttered disgustedly, his revulsion as fresh as on the day he'd learned about the true identity of his companion. "You tried to rape your helpless victims before you sucked them dry like a bloody leech? Dear God, Gerald, this one time I wouldn't mind if you told me I were too dense for my own good and got it all wrong again."

"Don't get yourself all worked up, priest. From my point of view it was a perfectly logical choice. Of course I could have visited a brothel for testing the waters, but I was rather sure that somewhere in the process I would loose control and kill my little guinea pig, a not very advisable course of action if you have to lay low. Anyway, I only tried once, and thought better of repeating the unpleasant experience."

The Hunter sighed wistfully, shuddering with twisted delight, his eyes half closed, and Damien's blood turned to ice water. " You should have heard her scared voice, Vryce, her tearful pleads. She even told me her name in the vain hope that seeing her as a person and not a breathing canteen of blood would prevent me from killing her. Pathetic, isn't it? Of course she could have spared her precious breath, but her incessant begging in combination with the sweet song of her blood rushing through her veins from sheer dread ignited my arousal, and I ripped her clothes off and…"

"Spare me the details, Hunter", the warrior knight hissed, at the limits of his endurance. "You are a hell of a sick bastard, and may the Lord forgive me for tempting you to proudly boast of your vile crimes in his own house. I just don't understand that you were able to sexually assault that poor girl at all. You're not alive, damn you!"

Gerald snorted haughtily, completely unabashed by Damien's outburst. "Don't be naïve, Vryce. I'm an adept and in complete control of my body. Ensuring a simple erection is one of my easiest tasks."

Damien gaped at his companion, completely aghast. This was getting a bit too complicated for his liking, and he called himself three times a fool for bringing up that accursed topic at all, but whether he liked it or not he wasn't spared asking a potentially vital question. "By now you've told me more than I ever wanted to know, but as I don't suppose you've cancelled your weird scheme it might be damn helpful to know what kind of disaster might befall us when we get down to business. So what happened that night?"

"The sensation of feeding on my prey, her weakening body desperately fighting against the blood loss, and having her at the same time was bliss beyond words" Tarrant replied dreamily, and Damien balled his hands into fists to prevent himself from throttling the adept. Not that the damn bastard needed the oxygen. "My pleasure was somewhat dampened though when I burst into flames right at the crucial moment. That was the end of the comely maiden and a fiery surprise for the fish in a near by lake. It took me a month to heal, hidden in a wretched cave in the mountains, my recovery aided by occasional visits to a nearby woodcutter camp. As I've already said it wasn't an adventure I'd care to relive."

The warrior knight rubbed his tired face, at the end of his tether. He desperately tried to push down his loathing, his visceral horror at Tarrant's revelations, but his stomach was still lurching at the thought of Gerald forcing himself of the pitiable dying girl and using her agony for his sexual stimulation.

Dear God, the man truly was a monster, a hellish abomination he had vowed to wipe off the face of Erna long before their first meeting, but looking at those angelic features facing him with their familiar serenity Damien's fallible human heart fluttered inside his chest, each beat a painful reminder that even if their fates hadn't been fused together by their common goal to destroy Calesta standing by his oath had become nigh to impossible.

Tarrant might be an infernal incarnation of evil, corrupted to the core, but that didn't negate the fact that he once had been the founder of his faith, and by now Damien was sure that a however faint spark of their revered Prophet had survived a thousand years of unlife and was still glowing deep down in the icy entity called the Hunter. Hadn't Gerald himself insisted on being a servant of the Church of Unification when they had met again at the Keep, brazenly wearing the collar of their order, an audacity which had almost driven Vryce to a very unwise attack? And Damien vividly remembered the devastated adept clinging to a bloody tree in his desperate search for solace when the Lord had rejected him, another comforting indication that Tarrant might still be saved by God's grace after all those centuries in servitude of the forces of pure evil.

Damien groaned inwardly. Somewhere along his path he had seemingly lost his ardent resolve to kill the Hunter, along with the purity of his faith and the integrity of his soul. The numerous canteens of blood he had donated for Gerald's benefit and even the detestable nightmares were a lark compared to those crushing losses, but maybe he had also found something very valuable to make up for it. God knew that aside from his hellish trappings Tarrant the man could be a pain in the arse with his ever present arrogance and vanity, but somehow the son of a bitch had grown on him until the adept's existence had become more precious to him than his own. He would find a way to redeem Gerald, free him from this vicious circle of hunger and murder, he definitely would, even if it was the last thing he ever did in his life.

"Indulging in carnal delights to earn redemption is quite an unusual concept, if that's what you have in mind, Vryce."

Damien glared daggers at his undead companion, but somehow the living proof of Gerald's acerbic tongue helped him to refocus on more urgent matters. The night wasn't getting any younger, and he guessed they had just an hour left till sunrise at most, maybe even less. One hour to desecrate the chapel with an act so vile it defied description. One hour to find a way around the taboo of having sex and save Gerald from the vengeance of the Nameless One, if his insane plan worked out at all. Damien sighed hopelessly, but then an idea struck him out of the blue, and his face brightened considerably.

"If _acts of procreation_ are deadly for you we should be on the safe side, Gerald. We're both men, obviously. I don't have a degree in biology, but creating life should be out of the picture, if you know what I mean."

Tarrant stared at him for a long time, frowning with barely veiled contempt, until Damien started fidgeting under his scrutinizing gaze. "What's the matter with you, man? Why do you glower at me as if I've just stolen that bloody Worked sword of yours? As far as it goes I've never heard about a man conceiving a child."

"You have never heard about a lot of things, Vryce. That goes without saying" the Hunter retorted acidly. "But we haven't met tonight to discuss human biology, have we?"

Indeed they hadn't, although Vryce would have very much preferred by now if they could have left it at that and called it a night. He still had no intention on going back on his promise, and holding Gerald in his arms, engulfed by his unique fragrance like a gossamer veil of sheer seduction, he had been more than willing to go along, but whatever arousal he had felt had evaporated into thin air when the Hunter had told him about his accursed attempt at raping one of his victims, and for the time being he didn't feel quite up to the task.

"No, we were planning how to corrupt a priest by '_embracing a demon'_ and save your damned butt from getting dragged to hell", Damien replied irritably, "but I have to admit you haven't exactly raised my spirits by telling me what you did to that poor girl, not to mention failing to raise the parts of my body required for our vulking deal. What now, Gerald? Dawn is approaching, and we're running out of time. Do you still want to carry out your hare-brained plan despite the risks involved?"

The adept's shoulders rose, and Damien knew him well enough to register that Tarrant had barely managed to stifle a sigh. When he spoke his voice was so low Damien had to prick up his ears. "I _want_ many things, Vryce. I want to escape the clutches of hell. I want to know what will become of my creation. And I want… something I cannot have. Ever."

The sorrow in Tarrant's halting words was unmistakable, and a wave of compassion washed over Damien, melting some of the icy tendrils of dread which had choked off the better part of his tender feelings. There was nothing he could do for that deplorable young woman who had died centuries ago and the thousands of the Hunter's victims except sending a heartfelt prayer to his God, but he'd be damned if he let down his friend in his hour of need.

Deliberately the warrior knight forced himself to unclench his hands, resting them lightly on his companion's hips and pulling him closer until his lips were but an inch away from Tarrant's face. "Try me, Gerald", he murmured gently. "Maybe you _can_ have it if you forget about your stubborn pride for once and pour your heart out."

Silver eyes locked with his hazel ones, and for once Damien had no problems deciphering the emotion on Tarrant's face: plain, very human anguish. "If I _pour my heart out _you won't like what you hear", the Hunter whispered. "You will try to kill me and fail, and that will be the end of you, or you will simply walk away and leave me to my own devices. Call it a laughable human weakness, but both possibilities fail to appeal to me."

"That makes two of us. Now will you please stop panicking and tell me what's going on in your head? " Damien raked his hair in mock despair. "If it's worse than the stuff I've already heard tonight I can't guarantee to keep my temper under control, but I won't walk out on you, and I won't try to kill you. That's a promise. And now stop dancing around your bloody secrets and get going."

For a second Tarrant's eyes closed and a tremor passed through his lean frame. "So be it", the adept breathed barely audibly, and Damien steeled himself for whatever revelation his companion had in store for him, his apprehension increasing tenfold when the Hunter freed himself from his loose embrace in one fluent, catlike motion and stepped back, bracing himself against the altar.

"I think you never fully comprehended what my existence entails, Vryce, a rather strange failure for a servant of the One God. Who should be more familiar with the concept of pure evil than a priest? You feed me your blood and your nightmares and consider me a mere vampire or bloodsucking demon, but that's just a part of me. The lesser part, created to wreak havoc and strike fear into the human hearts. But there's much more to it, so much more."

Tarrant cut himself off, and Damien could have heard a pin drop in the oppressive silence. When the adept continued at long last his voice trembled slightly, and the warrior knight felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

"Do you know that one name for the devil on old Earth was the 'Father of Lies', and with good reason? The Forces of Hell are quite proficient at twisting and warping the truth, corrupting everybody and everything however pure until you can't tell right from wrong anymore and fall for the lure of evil. I was created by those merciless creatures, priest, they control the parameters of my existence, determine what I'm allowed to think and punish me for my failings. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"

By now Vryce was a bit bewildered. Tarrant's voice had taken on an unusually agitated note, but as far as Damien was concerned he hadn't been revealed anything explicitly new. The Hunter had told him long ago that he was planning to corrupt him, had even deigned to inform him about the intended course of action.

"For you I've become the most subtle creature of all: a civilized evil, genteel and seductive" (CoS, page 379) had been Tarrant's exact words, burned into Damien's memories by his appalled abhorrence and the resulting vow to kill his despicable ally as soon as their quest was over. But why the heck was Gerald worrying about his diabolical nature now? Considered that the adept had to find shelter before sunrise it was high time if they desired to exchange something more intimate than a farewell nod.

Despite his discomfiture the warrior knight grinned, but upbraided himself with a mental kick and forced his straying attention back on his companion's question. "Of course I do, but I don't understand why you're so upset. You've told me all this ages ago, the crap about corrupting me by becoming a civilized and seductive evil. And '_genteel'_ as well, as far as I remember. God is my witness that you know how to act the lordly aristocrat. But what's the point in fretting over long spilled milk tonight?"

"The point you stubbornly fail to notice", Gerald snapped icily, "is the emphasis on the word '_seductive'_. When we first met we were natural-born enemies. You were bound to attack me, you threatened my very existence, and I needed some reassurance. It was so easy to ensnare you, to fuel those longings inside you when you were dreaming for my pleasure, your soul laid bare before me. Your veneration of the Prophet, your foolish compassion for the damnable creature that had become of him, your secret desires, everything was there for the taking. You had no chance in hell to escape my web, priest. That's what I am, what I was made for."

At first Vryce couldn't believe his ears, but there was no mistaking the bells of truth ringing in Tarrant's soul-chilling words, and his heart froze to solid ice and shattered neatly into a myriad of crystal shards.

His mind clouded by a red fog of wrath Damien didn't even realize that his sword hand was clutching the flame patterned hilt in a death grip while the nails of his left were leaving bleeding crescents in his palm. All he could do for the time being was leaning shakily to one of the wooden pews and fighting the overpowering urge to draw his weapon for an attack that would very likely be the last mistake of his life. Not that he really cared if he lived or died at the very moment. He had always known that the adept was manipulating him for his own benefit, but to hear that his accursed feelings weren't quite his own but induced by one of Tarrant's wicked maneuvers was an altogether different matter.

"You bastard", Damien rasped hoarsely when he had at long last reacquired his capacity for coherent speech. "So you had planned this meticulously, hadn't you? All that prattle about accidentally reading my true emotions when I touched you, bloody idiot that I am, was pure bullshit, just a part of your damned plotting and scheming. You knew them all the time, because you vulking planted them in my brain in the first place!"

"If you had listened properly you'd be aware of the fact that I didn't instil those yearnings but used what was already there for my Workings. You have to understand that it seemed a perfect idea at first. Your caring for me made you so much more manageable, less dangerous, and…"

"Cut it, Hunter", the warrior knight barked, his voice resonating like thunder in the small chapel of his faith. "Very probably I can't compete with that brilliant brain of yours, but I'm not as daft as you think. '_The Darkest Prince of Hell'_. That's one of your disgusting _honorary_ titles, isn't it? For your sake I hope you're damn proud that you did it justice. You beguiled me, you used me, and when your impending punishment by your employers scared the shit out of you decided to put my besotted self into proper use. But before we get over with this abominable charade I'd rather know one thing: You'd already managed to push your favourite pawn on exactly the right spot on your infernal chessboard. Why didn't you just pull through with your preposterous plan but opted for taking a chance by enlightening me? Don't tell me you suddenly got a hell of a guilty conscience."

"After what had passed between us tonight I thought I owed you the truth, Vryce."

Due to the dim light and the tears of anger blurring his eyesight Damien's vision was very much impaired, but not too impaired to miss the tremor in Gerald's shoulders, and that rare sign of distress and the stoic resignation in the adept's voice took some of the howling wind of anger out of his sails, though he still felt like the biggest fool who'd ever walked their fickle planet.

"That so?" Damien retorted tartly. "But don't try to sidestep my question. Why did you change your mind and decided that you _owe_ me?"

Now Tarrant _did_ sigh, and almost unperceivable sound over the blood rushing in Damien's ears, and when the adept turned round to face him the warrior knight swallowed, taken aback at the utterly unfamiliar look of trepidation on his companion's pale face.

As I've already told you encouraging your yearnings seemed an advisable course of action to secure you wouldn't move against me, but somehow my plan … backfired. I hadn't calculated that the leakage from the link could have an unexpected side effect, and after a while I found myself trapped in a veritable tangle of inane human emotions. I tried to withdraw, but the pull of your feelings was too strong to resist. That wasn't supposed to happen, Vryce, but your damned humanity seems to have an unsavoury contagious influence on me."

That must have been about the second time ever Vryce heard the Hunter swearing in all those months they had travelled together, a grave evidence of how uncomfortable Tarrant was with telling him the truth about his manipulations and a soothing plaster on Damien's hurt pride. After having overcome his initial shock at the adept's revelation the warrior knight had to admit that his companion had indeed acted in a sort of self-defense, trying to eliminate a potential threat in his own warped manner which had been forced upon him by the abominable hell's bargain he had struck centuries ago.

"So if I get it correctly the spider has been caught in her own artful silken web. Right?" Damien challenged, his flippant remark earning him a very fine exemplar of one of the Hunter's famous glares.

Your colourful metaphors never fail to amaze me", Tarrant replied testily, "but in the essence your assumption is correct.

The frozen shards in Damien's chest melted and mended into a warm, beating human heart again which stuttered with unbridled joy, and a small, shaky smile spread over his face. Gerald was what he was and what his nature forced him to be, and nothing but the Lord's amazing grace could save him from that terrible fate, but maybe the channel had indeed formed a gateway for his human influence, reawakening emotions in the Hunter which had been buried under layers of corruption for centuries. God moved in mysterious ways, and very possibly Tarrant and his tampering with Damien's mind had unintentionally played a very welcome tool for the adept's salvation in the priest's hands, a tool he was damn well determined to use for paving his companion's long way to deliverance from evil.

Damien was dragged out of his musings by the faint crowing of a cock, and shocked he registered that grey light filtered through the plain windows. Dawn was near, and Tarrant had to Locate a refuge from the killing sunlight as soon as possible.

"What are your plans now, priest?" the Hunter whispered, his eyes locked on Vryce's face with an unreadable expression. "Will you go back on your promise and deny me before the rooster crows again? Or will you stand by one your fairly contradictory vows and either try to kill me or save my '_damned butt from getting dragged to hell'_, as you put it with your accustomed courtesy?"

The faithful had had to abandon the better part of their religious traditions on a planet which brought their fears and wishes to an unholy life for them, including the belief in a messiah who was supposed to deliver mankind from evil, but as a priest and Knight of the Order of the Golden Flame Damien didn't miss Tarrant's allusion, and for a moment his hackles rose at the loathsome sacrilege.

Nonetheless Vryce had already heard worse that night than blasphemy by a man who had been damned to eternal suffering in hell a millennium ago and was considered my many as evil incarnate, and shaking off his righteous indignation with a mental shrug Damien stepped closer and settled his hands lightly on the Hunter's shoulders.

"I think I settle for the latter, Gerald. Although I can't say I'm delighted at your unexpected revelations I really appreciate that you told me the truth. But if you don't want to get the worst sunburn in living history you have to find shelter now. Don't cut it too close. We still have a date, you know."

For once the calm façade shattered, and a look of sheer relief passed over Tarrant's delicate features. The adept opened his mouth and shut it again without so much as uttering a single syllable, his struggling for words so unfamiliar that Damien wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"You are an amazing man, Damien Kilcannon Vryce, you truly are", Tarrant murmured eventually. "Tonight you had to face some of your worst fears, and yet you're determined to succour me. Not that I'm not grateful for your forbearance, but try as I might I can't understand you, a jarring fact rather detrimental to my self-esteem."

Damien chuckled, amused at the Hunter's irritation. "When it comes down to you sometimes I don't quite understand myself, my friend, so don't get all uptight about it. But I've thought about the location of our little adventure. After what you told me about your vulking _experiment_ I'd rather not meet here. It's much too dry for my peace of mind. We might spend a pretty long time in purgatory, anyway, but bursting into flames in the throes of passion is not everybody's cup of tea."

"Of course your change of opinion isn't based on your futile wish to avoid profaning this chapel, is it, Vryce?" Tarrant replied sarcastically. "But let's hear your recommendation, anyway. I just hope you're not planning to book the Honeymoon Suite at the Grand Hotel."

A mischievous grin brightened Damien's face, and he couldn't resist winking at his companion. "Not quite, Gerald. Not quite. But tell me: have you ever made love on the beach?"

ooooooooo

Postscriptum: I really don't know if there are any crowing animals resembling roosters on Erna, but let's just presume they exist. As for _'guinea pig'_ and '_gone to the dogs'_: in my opinion those phrases could have very well survived until Tarrant's time. The colonists lost their advanced technology in the First Sacrifice, but they didn't suffer from collective amnesia. We still use a lot of phrases invented by Shakespeare, for example, and that genius has been dead for roundabout 400 years. By the way, if you can get a copy read 'Shakespeare Undead' by Lori Handeland. It's great fun!

When Tarrant talks about _give my 'flesh to the…beasts of the field'_ he quotes from the Bible, 1 Samuel 17:44.

I suppose most of us know Gerald's allusion to the crowing cock: 'And the second time the cock crowed. And Peter called to mind the word that Jesus said unto him, Before the cock crows twice, you shall deny me three times.' (King James 2000 Bible, Mark 14:72)

I hope I didn't miss too many mistakes, but I'm so sleep deprived that I can barely keep my eyes open... Yawn!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four:**

Warnings: slash

Author's note 1: I'm back, folks! Nowadays they kick you out of hospital as soon as you're able to stand on your feet, and I've been home for quite a while now thankfully, but needed some time to recuperate. Sorry for the delay.

Author's note 2: Now it's time for Gerald and Damien to get down to business and make love on the beach and for violating another one of my own principles: never write a sex scene with someone who's undead…;-). 'A symphony of fire and ice' doesn't quite count on my tally, because there's no true act of sexual congress between the two protagonists though Damien shares his pleasure with Gerald via the channel, and I have to admit that I definitely felt a tad uneasy about writing this at first. Nonetheless abandoning this story without taking it to its, well, natural conclusion has never been an option to me, and I didn't want to disappoint whoever still gives a damn for what's going on in this fic with dredging up a lame excuse for my misgivings (e.g. either Damien or Gerald suddenly gets second thoughts concerning the matter). So there we go:

Author's note 3: Of course the story's slightly AU. If Damien and Gerald had become lovers at the end of WTNF a lot of us wouldn't have been so annoyed at COS…;-)

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo o

The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon half an hour ago, and shadows were spreading across the secluded bay sheltering a small, sandy beach, something so rare on their fickle planet with its inhospitable coastlines that Damien had wondered at his unexpected discovery whether the One God of his faith possessed a rather wicked sense of humour. His gaze locked on the gentle waves lapping at the shore Damien was sitting on a woollen blanket, softly whistling an old love song from Earth he had picked up in an inn when he was still a teenager and had developed a crush on one of his female tutors at the seminary. From the distance Vryce would have been the first one to admit that what he had perceived as love had more likely been a bad case of raging teenager hormones, and the mental image of his younger self drooling over his anthropology teacher brought a faint smile on his lips. So much had happened since then, and when he tried to remember the woman's face an angelic, pale and distinctively male countenance pushed itself forward with jarring insistency.

Despite the gathering darkness the air was pleasantly balmy, and the golden sand under his bare feet still radiated warmth, evoking charming pictures of tanned, laughing children equipped with sunhats and little baskets, digging for shellfish and all the other wondrous treasures the sea released from its fathomless empire when the tide was out. For a fleeting moment of peace Damien allowed himself to succumb to the deceptively peaceful scenario, relishing the soft breeze caressing his face and the glittering stars overhead which unsettlingly reminded him of a pair of mesmerizing silver eyes.

_Just the right atmosphere for an intimate tête-à-tête on the beach, Vryce_, the warrior knight thought wryly, and reality crushing down on him with a vengeance his mouth instantly turned into a veritable desert and brought his unmelodious musical performance to an abrupt standstill.

Damien's well-intentioned proposal had been answered with a very fine exemplar of Gerald's infamous scowls, the adept's delicately arched eyebrows raised in a display of unvoiced, but unmistakable disparagement which couldn't have been more profound if the priest had indeed suggested booking into the Grand Hotel's honeymoon suite. In the wake of his bloodcurdling confessions Tarrant had apparently regretted his open display of very human vulnerability and had clammed up completely, retreating behind the by now much too familiar impenetrable wall of aloof hauteur and letting himself out into the rising dawn without so much as a farewell nod. Damien had walked back to his lodgings in a daze and flung himself onto his bed, but despite his bone-tiredness sleep had evaded him for a long, long time, the disclosures of the night and his concerns about the future wearing heavily on his soul. When he had finally managed to sink into oblivion his fitful nap had been disturbed by nightmares so dreadful that the waves of paralyzing terror crushing down on him with a vengeance easily could have provided a lavish five-course meal for the Hunter. Bad luck for the damn son of a bitch who was doubtlessly dozing away the day in whatever gloomy shelter he had managed to ferret out before the rising sun could have burned him to a pile of ashes.

The Hunter had cut it close once again, and presumably Damien's anxiety had played a vital part in creating those horrific dreams which had haunted him with grisly images of Gerald Tarrant roasting in hell or bursting into flames in his arms and soul-chilling visions of his own damnation alike, and the warrior knight had woken up more than once whimpering like a frightened child, the bed sheet and pillow drenched with sweat and tears. At twelve p.m. Vryce hadn't been able to take it any longer, and he had left his boarding-house for a light lunch and some reconnoitering. Although he hadn't quite dared to picture the precise nocturnal pursuits laying in store for him it had seemed advisable to indulge into those questionable activities far from prying eyes, and God, or more likely the devil himself, depending on the point of view, had offered them this idyllic haven.

Back in his room Damien had opted for the rare treat of a hot bath and a shave, but his restlessness had driven him back on the streets well before dusk, and he had coughed up an outrageous sum for two bottles of a decent red wine and supplemented his purchases with some ham sandwiches and the very blanket he was occupying now. His tired legs had carried him back to the narrow strip of sand then, and alone with the wind and the waves his troubled thoughts had instantly focussed on their recent tribulations. Reminiscences of the horrendous atrocities he had had to witness over the last year, the death of his unfortunate companions, his pangs of conscience at defying the principles of his church by allying with the fallen prophet of his faith and Gerald's harrowing avowals had been warring with his indisputable caring for the man he had once sworn to kill, and the warrior knight's shoulders had slumped under his burden.

By now Vryce had nibbled listlessly at one of his sandwiches and was well into the first bottle of wine, but although the alcoholic beverage had somehow dulled the sharp edge of his apprehension the food definitely didn't go well with his stomach. Good heavens, what the hell had possessed him to agree with Tarrant's lunatic scheme? In close proximity to Gerald's tempting presence his hormones had developed the unsettling habit of getting the better of him if he wasn't busy fighting down the compelling urge to strangle the haughty son of a bitch, but in the adept's absence common sense had hoisted the red alarm flag, and Damien couldn't help but having second thoughts concerning the wisdom of his rash decision. The risk was simply incalculable. Tarrant had survived his detestable hands-on experiment centuries ago, but that didn't guarantee that he would get off with a slap on his wrist this time, to say nothing about his own well-being and the rather embarrassing fact that his lack of experience with same sex dalliances caused a more than uncomfortable uproar in his bowels, anyway. The warrior knight sighed and buried his face into his hands.

"You sound like a moonstruck teenager, Vryce" a silky voice interrupted his musings, and Damien very nearly jumped out of his skin. Damned Gerald Tarrant and his thrice damned ability of sneaking up on him like a feline predator! The priest hadn't harboured a sliver of doubt that utilizing his inhumanely keen predator senses and the link they had established back in the rakhlands the Hunter would be able to track him down effortlessly if he so chose, but the Neocount's uncanny appearances out of thin air were simply hair-raising.

"For heaven's sake, can't you approach like a normal mortal for once, Gerald?" Damien grumbled gruffly. "Suffering a heart attack would render me quite useless for your suicidal plan, wouldn't it?"

Gracing his nagging with a verbal reply was evidently considered beneath the ancient soul hidden somewhere behind the perfect, impervious ivory mask, and fidgeting uncomfortably under Tarrant's intimidating gaze so much colder than the reflection of moonlight on a frozen lake Vryce gave up with a sigh and offered his companion the bottle, knowing better than to engage in a foolish 'who averts his eyes first' battle with the Hunter. "Want a sip of wine? I paid through the nose for the vulking tipple, and it should be up even to your sophisticated standards."

To Damien's astonishment the adept accepted his proposal and retrieved a dainty silver goblet adorned with the same family crest the warrior knight had seen on Tarrant's knife from a hidden pocket. _May God beware that you do anything as uncultivated as drinking straight from the bottle,_ _you snobbish bastard, not to mention that I don't even want to know the sinister purpose for carrying your bloody goblet around. Always at the ready is your damned motto, I bet,_ Damien thought with rising exasperation, but kept his cheeky mouth in check for once. There was a lot to be said in favour of some good old stress relief bickering, but meanwhile the priest was so wrecked with nerves that he wasn't sure at all if his tongue wouldn't just flatly refuse to do its duty, and stammering incoherently in the presence of a man who was a master craftsman at wielding his words like weapons as potentially lethal as his Worked sword or the dark fae was a mishap he could do very well without for the time being.

The Hunter settled down on the blanket and reclined at Vryce's side in one fluent, serpentine motion so outright inhuman in its feral grace that a cold shiver ran down Damien's spine and nipped languidly at his wine, evidently utterly unfazed by the mind-boggling situation, and when the warrior knight dared a cursory glance from the corners of his eyes he wasn't in the least surprised that Tarrant's ethereal features were perfectly composed, the hypnotic eyes gazing at the enchanting night sky in quiet contemplation clearer and more detached than the innumerable stars twinkling above them.

"Are we going to pass the night with stargazing and getting drunk, or shall we slowly but surely get it over with, Vryce?"

Almost choking on a generous mouthful of burgundy was hardly less humiliating than sighing and spluttering like the aforementioned _'moonstruck teenager'_, and when he was done with coughing and wiping his watering eyes the warrior knight glared daggers at his insufferable nemesis whose serene gaze might have fooled anybody but Damien who knew Tarrant well enough to register the wry amusement lurking under the impassive façade. His hackles rising Vryce balled his hands into fists, valiantly fighting the overpowering impulse to wipe the smug expression off his companion's face. "How the heck am I supposed to guess what you expect of me, Gerald? Prowling through my soul in search of a delightful dinner you very well know that you don't have a vulking _predecessor_, so you have me at a slight disadvantage."

Damien was damn sure the faint smile on the Hunter's pale visage wasn't a weird trick conjured by the dazzling moonlight, and he gritted his teeth. Bloody self-assured bastard!

"As usual. But I thought I made myself rather clear when we struck our bargain, priest", the Hunter replied haughtily. "The term was '_to embrace a demon'_, but as long as you don't get your hopes up that I will allow my body to respond to your ministrations you can replace it with whatever human euphemism you prefer. Lay with me, fuck me, have it off with me, I don't really care how you call it, as long as you perform the bare necessities required to earn me a pardon from my unforgiving benefactors."

Vryce's jaw dropped, and for a moment he just stared at Tarrant, at the loss of words and more than slightly repelled by his ally's callous words. Bedding a man for the first time in his life was unsettling, mildly put, bedding vulking Gerald Tarrant who had left no doubt that he was no novice concerning these matters was even more nerve rattling, not to mention that his lover-to-be was an undead disciple of the Unnamed and subjected to stringent rules of conduct which inter alia excluded partaking in any act of sexual congress whatsoever. Nonetheless the few hours of rest which hadn't had him thrashing around on the bed in the grip of those abominable nightmares had provided him with rather alluring visions of Gerald breathing his name, the silver eyes misty with longing and pleasure, and having his foolish illusions crashing down all around him was of little help for smoothing the warrior knight's ruffled feathers.

"And what are you going to do while I '_have it off with you'_? Lay there like a vulking broomstick and count the grains of sand or the bloody stars in the sky? Or will you keep your sick mind entertained with planning the next hunt?" Damien blurted out, completely unnerved. "For heaven's sake, Gerald, have you ever truly listened to yourself? Your attitude is not exactly inspiring."

"If I can't provide you with sufficient _inspiration_ to keep up your side of the bargain I'd rather suggest you focus on a pleasant memory, Vryce", the Hunter retorted tartly. "You surely have some sweet recollections of the Lady Ciani or your late pilot to get you into the right mood."

The warrior knight was still counting from a hundred backwards to prevent himself from pouncing on Tarrant and engaging in a different kind of close combat than the more intimate one which had actually been scheduled for their encounter when the cognitive part of his brain caught up with his anger and he realized that mentioning the loremaster the adept's light tenor had distinctly carried a strange, miffed undertone, something the warrior knight wouldn't have thought possible if he hadn't heard it with his own ears.

_Gotcha, you secretive old mystery-monger_, Vryce grinned inwardly, desperately trying to keep a straight face while his heart somersaulted inside his chest with sheer glee at the tremendously ego-boosting marvel that the unflappable, lofty Neocount wasn't above plain human jealousy despite his flaunted indifference. Adding this exhilarating revelation to the fact that presumably it shouldn't have come as a big surprise that the reserved, proud adept was falling back on his usual survival strategies of arrogant disdain and his trademark sarcasm now after he had dared to bare his soul in a previously unprecedented manner last night, not to mention Tarrant's visceral fear of his punishment at the hands of the Unnamed and the not so far fetched possibility of terminating his existence by indulging into a forbidden act of procreation, Damien's irritation faded into non-existence, washed away by a veritable storm surge of compassion and affection.

"Listen to me, Gerald", he muttered after a while, still desperately fishing for the right words to convey his feelings, "I've had it up to here with us playing hide and seek with each other. You know damn well that I don't want anybody else. I've already told you I've never done this with a man before, and the whole experience might not live up to your memories of days long gone by, but if it's up to me to pick the _human euphemism_ the choice is surprisingly easy. Will you grant me the favour of making love to you?"

Tarrant stared at him without so much as a single blink, and Damien had to fight a sudden bout of vertigo. Gerald's face was close now, so close, the flashing, unearthly eyes burning into his own and outshining the celestial orbs dotting the night sky, sucking in the moonlight until the whole world was fading to a dull shade of grey except those molten pools of quicksilver in white. Trembling violently as if in the grip of a vicious fever the warrior knight held his breath and cupped the smooth alabaster cheeks as frigid as the abysmal depths of the ocean utterly untouched by the live-spending rays of the sun, and when he felt the Hunter's barely perceptible nod Damien threw all caution to the wind and leaned forward into their first kiss.

The adept flinched, but to the priest's amazement and wonder he didn't draw back, but opened his lips with a shaky, resigned sigh instead, tempting him to deepen the initially rather chaste peck until their tongues met. Tarrant's mouth was soft and yielding despite its glacial cold and tasted of the luscious burgundy, a delicious tinge of sweet grapes with a finish of ripe cherries and a faint hint of exotic spices, and surrendering to the kiss and Gerald's alluring scent which wrapped around his responsive nerves like a veil woven of irresistible temptation Vryce lay back on the blanket and started to undress his companion without ceasing to explore the Hunter's mouth for a single second

Damien's shaking hands were still fumbling with the ridiculous amount of laces and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons of the layers of Tarrant's midnight blue robes when long, slender fingers had already ridden him of his leather vest and shirt and were moving downwards to unlace his fly. Wriggling out of his trousers the warrior knight was distracted momentarily, and when he focussed his attention on the adept again his eyes very nearly popped out of his head.

Presumably the Hunter had used a Banishing to shed his garments in a blink without bothering about the myriads of annoying clasps, silk ribbons and minuscule buttons, and the unexpected sight of Gerald Tarrant without a stitch of clothing on his lean body simply took Damien's breath away. Bathed in Domina's and Casca's dazzling light the white, creamy skin so eerily inhuman in its flawlessness had acquired an unearthly, almost translucent pearly glow, and when the lips of the enticing vision who could have been one of God's archangels rather than a minion of hell curved into an inviting come-on smile the priest's mind blanked out completely. More than ready to be true to his word he succumbed to his yearning and rolled on top of his companion.

Overpowered by the stunning onslaught of sensations, the mind-blowing contrast between the icy chill seeping into his bones and the naked desire spreading through his whole body like a wildfire Damien faltered for a moment, but Gerald's fingers stroked him, guided him until he sank into the searing wintriness of the Hunter's body. Tarrant's hands trailed a line of cold fire from Vryce's shoulders to his nether cheeks and back again in a hypnotic rhythm, staring up to his lover with irises reflecting the luminescent glow of the Core like the eyes of a feline beast of prey and shining in a warm shade of golden amber instead of their accustomed cool silver, and the warrior knight lost himself in that otherworldly gaze and started to move slowly, as if in a trance.

Time lost its meaning and seconds seemed to stretch into eternity, and up to the end of his days Damien wouldn't be able to determine for how long their blissful, tender lovemaking had actually lasted, but he would never forget the almost religious ecstasy setting his nerves on fire, the heart-rending conviction that he had finally, unexpectedly come home on the shores of an alien continent where their low sighs and whispered endearments mixed with the eternal murmur of the waves.

"I feel… rather strange, Vryce." Gerald's strangled voice snapped the priest out of his lustful haze, and gathering his wits he realized that as far as he could assess in the enchanting moonlight the adept looked slightly flushed, and his skin definitely felt warmer than before. Crap! More than just a little bit worried Damien remembered that his long wait for Tarrant's arrival had left him with sufficient leisure for drawing up a contingency plan just in case the going got tough, and without thinking twice he scooped the Hunter up and carried him to an outcrop of rock nearby which jutted up into the ocean and provided a more or less convenient seating.

"Sit on my lap, Gerald", Damien murmured softly. "If we want to avoid getting a nasty surprise it might be safer when you are in control."

The adept acquiesced to his suggestion and straddled him without a whiff of protest, and cradled in the Hunter's embrace the warrior knight made the surprising discovery that his enforced passivity reaped its own sweet rewards when his helpless waiting for each of Tarrant's tantalizingly slow movements fuelled his desire until he thought he couldn't take it any longer. Just a hair's breadth short of begging Vryce groaned with unbridled lust when his lover changed the angle of his thrusts and sped up his pace, riding him hard and fast and moaning his name over and over again in a breathless, husky voice which send a shiver of sheer rapture through the warrior knight's body. That was all Damien could bear, and in the last conscious second ahead of his impending climax he tightened his grip around Gerald's waist and let himself slip into the sea, pulling the adept with him.

When Damien came halfway to his senses again he was resting on the very same scratchy rug their excursion into the realms of voluptuousness had begun on, his naked limbs wrapped snugly into Gerald's preciously embroidered cloak and the wine bottle and the remainder of the ham sandwiches within convenient reach. Still drowsy with euphoria Vryce yawned and stretched himself, barely resisting the temptation to purr like a contented feline.

The warrior knight had had never lain with a man before and lacked any possibility of comparison whatsoever, but it had been clear as day that for somebody determined to passively endure what he considered a mere tool for sidestepping the looming merciless retaliatory strike for his violation of the accursed compact at the hands of entities for whom forgiveness and compassion were foreign concepts Tarrant had participated rather enthusiastically in their delightful activities when pleasure had overcome the crumbling barricades of aloof detachment at long last and he had finally dared to let himself go. Way more than the bare mechanics each of Gerald's rapturous moans had sent a flash of liquid fire through his groin until he had wondered whether he would pass out from sheer bliss.

The distinct tinge of salt on his lips still mingling with the sweet taste of his lover's mouth Damien faintly remembered sinking beneath the water surface, clinging to the adept like a lifeline and his body convulsing in what must have been the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced, but incredibly from that point on his memory of events was completely wiped out. The lust addled rational parts of his brain commencing their neglected duties at long last the priest froze. How on Earth on Erna did he get back on the blanket, and what the heck had happened to Gerald?

Fraught with dread Damien's searching gaze fell on a lonely figure perched on the farthest rock just out of reach of the surf, and there was something so strange, so utterly desolate about Tarrant's stiff posture that the warrior knight jumped to his feet in a blink and jogged to his companion, not giving a damn about the crushed shells and occasional sharp pebbles under his bare soles. "Gerald?"

The Hunter continued to gaze at the ocean without moving a muscle, and a shiver ran down Damien's spine when he realized that although his lover was fully dressed again his fine, golden brown hair was still laying in a wet, tangled mess on his rigid shoulders. If Tarrant were a normal man that wouldn't have been worth mentioning; after all the two of them had just taken a dip in the sea, but memorizing that while travelling to the realm of the Undying Prince the weakened adept had needed a hand once to climb out of the wretched, muddy hole which had offered them a refuge from the rising dawn just to spend his last reserves of strength on satisfying his damn vanity by Working his hair back to its accustomed gleaming waves Damien felt his blood run cold. "Gerald", he repeated gently, "what's wrong with you? Are you hurt?"

A shudder passed through the lean frame, and the warrior knight held his breath. "Not on the outside", the Hunter whispered. "The one thing that got hurt was my foolhardy pride, Vryce. Like any other ordinary Tom, Dick or Harry I lost control and jeopardized my immortal existence for the pleasures of the flesh, an unforgivable mistake for somebody whose very survival is based on the principle 'mind over matter'. I was too sure of myself, so damned proud of my self-control that I forgot that the taint of your human influence corrupts evil incarnate no less than my malevolent presence undermines the very pillars of your soul. Call it a bad joke", Tarrant continued with a bitter laugh, "that you might yet take pride in being my undoing, if in a completely different way you had previously imagined. If you hadn't balked at taking me in the chapel last night or had failed to come up with your ludicrous idea of a moonlight rendezvous on the beach…"

The Hunter shrugged and trailed off, and Damien swallowed, stunned by the doleful misery in his shaky voice. Lowering himself at Tarrant's side, not an easy feat concerning his bulk and the limited space the slippery rocks offered, the warrior knight put a comforting hand on the adept's shoulder. "You had better remember that any plans whatsoever of being your vulking undoing have been pigeonholed quite a while ago. I won't pretend that I don't detest your abominable eating habits, and you drive me up the wall sometimes with your lordliness and your acerbic tongue, but I bear you no ill will any longer. Can't you get that into your pretty, stubborn head?"

Tarrant's face was shuttered, his gaze still fixed on the infinite expanse of water. "You don't understand, Vryce" the Hunter breathed at long last. "Denying that our feelings for each other have changed profoundly would be hypocritical in the extreme, but it might amount to the same thing anyway. When I gave in to the lure of your attraction and assuaged the mundane hunger of my body I broke the compact again, and instead of earning forgiveness and defining my existence anew by corrupting a servant of the One God I committed another heinous crime in the eyes of the Unnamed. Whether you kill me with your hate or with your love is just a difference in semantics, but the result is the same, and I very much doubt that roasting in hell I'll be inclined to directing my attention on hair-splitting. Despite your best intentions and your futile human notions of redeeming me you'll very likely be the death of me, one way or the other."

Shaken by the horrendous implications of Tarrant's words and the look of abject misery on the beautiful face the warrior knight quivered and pulled the adept into a protective embrace, calling himself three times a fool for nursing his foolish male pride in igniting his lover's passion while the potential horrific consequences of his renewed faux pas had been scaring the living daylights out of the man he cherished. Pondering their drawbacks and opportunities Vryce finally understood, and his blood turned to ice water inside his veins.

"If you are truly convinced _the taint of my human influence_ endangers your existence and you're better off without me we are running out of options", Damien bit out tautly when he was reasonably sure that his vocal chords wouldn't refuse to carry out their duty. "Either the paths of our lives diverge from now on and each of us wages his own war on the vulking demon who seems to be poised to remould our world to his liking or you do what you have to do and rid yourself of my harmful persona non grata in a more final fashion. Can't say I'm keen on kicking the bucket, especially not after what has come to pass between us tonight, but although I'm loth to admit it your survival is damn more important for the fate of mankind on Erna than mine. You can take on Calesta on your own while I don't have a snowball's chance in hell fighting that son of a bitch without your aid. It's up to you, Gerald."

Tarrant blinked and swallowed convulsively, a reaction so utterly human that Damien's heart went out to him. "A mere year ago I would have killed you in a heartbeat if I had thought to gain from your death, but it's not that simple anymore, Vryce. When you had yanked me into the surf and rescued me thus from going up in flames your mortal body failed to withstand the deadly impact of my demonic essence at long last, and you lost consciousness. It wasn't my doing, but for a moment I contemplated to…leave it at that, to acquit myself of your tempting presence by letting you drown. Impassively standing by and watching the man who had just saved his unlife once again perish without lifting a finger would have been a fitting deed for a creature they call the Darkest Prince of Hell, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. What kind of toothless monster does that make me?"

"The wicked mother hen who dragged me back to our blanket, tucked me into your cloak and remembered that a frail human might be in need of some refreshments after a very busy night?" Vryce suggested with a faint, relieved smile. Miraculously Gerald had already made his choice and had dared to walk a tentative step further on the long and winded road to redemption instead of succumbing to the lure of evil, the rekindled spark of humanity in that blackest of souls struggling valiantly against the choking vines of corruption and his hellish cravings despite a millennium of serving the forces of the dark, and the warrior knight's heart swelled with joy. "Whatever happens I won't let you down, Gerald. If harm wants to have a closer look at you it will have to get past me first, even if I will have to battle hoards of vicious demons and the armies of hell unleashed. We're in this together, remember?"

For a long time the Hunter didn't answer but stared blankly into the distance, the moonlight transforming his delicate features into a vision of unearthly beauty, and the warrior knight held his breath. "Together then", Tarrant whispered finally, his low voice barely audible over the sound of the waves, and Damien relaxed with a heartfelt sigh. Admittedly the prospects of the future were rather grim, but as long as they were fighting shoulder to shoulder there was still a modicum of hope that they would come out of this unscathed.

Gently Damien cupped Gerald's chin and turned his head around. "Don't know whether the idea will cheer you up or induce you to draw your vulking sword", he chuckled, "but if you care for an encore we've got the knack now how to avoid the risk of spontaneous self combustion. I still abhor the bloody ocean, but in this special case the abundance of salt water on our long voyage home could reconcile me with my fate, if you get my point. As far as I am concerned the Unnamed is much too busy to keep a meticulous tally of your transgressions."

Tarrant's eyes weren't cold and devoid of emotion any longer but sparkling with affection and wry humour, and when the corners of his mouth turned up in a mischievous smile the priest's breath caught inside his chest. "I very much doubt that it's advisable to delay our homecoming by anchoring at each and every little island on our way, but the night is still quite young, Damien", the adept purred seductively. If you feel up to it I wouldn't mind a repetition of our pleasant activities right _now_. This time you are mine, though."

For a fleeting second Damien wavered, daunted by the Hunter's unexpected suggestion, but then he relented with an inward shrug. If somebody had foretold him a month ago that he would make love to a man he would have tapped his forehead, but there was no denying that bedding the Hunter had been blissful beyond his wildest expectations. _Let's move on to new horizons, Vryce. That's not a first since you've been travelling with Gerald, anyway,_ Damien thought dryly. Five minutes later the brilliant moonlight was still bathing the outcrop of rocks in its silver rays, but the two men who had found an unsteady seat upon them had moved on to trading gasps and bold caresses on the damp sand, cradled in each others' arms and utterly oblivious to the world, sadistic demons and the fate which lay in store for them.

0000000000000000000000000000 000000000000

Postscriptum: Well, it's done, and I can focus on my other unfinished tales. This story might have a sequel, though. Let's wait and see.


End file.
